


A Soliloquy in Eight Words

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-31
Updated: 2007-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Prince's Tale</i> chapter from DH, retold with a twist: <i>"Look at me," Snape begged, trying with all his strength to block out the sight of those awful green eyes, to focus only on the boy's messy black hair and the glasses slipping down his nose. In the haze of blood loss, he could almost ignore the scar that marred this boy's forehead, and the searing eyes that would always remind Snape that he was looking at the wrong face, the wrong boy.</i></p><p>9,000 words. NC-17. AU: the DH backstory between Snape and Lily, except with Snape and James. :) December 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soliloquy in Eight Words

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a fic/art collaboration with Lizard and Calyxess. You can see their amazing (NWS) art [HERE](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/95932.html) (scroll down). Thanks to islandsmoke for the beta work.

_Memories_ were not really the right word for the weeping strands of thought that threatened to escape Snape's mind with every pulse of blood from his neck. That word implied something nostalgic, a recreation only of what might have been. A better word in his circumstances would be _reflections_ – sharp, vivid portraits of what _was_, not just what he wished for.

The boy was hovering over him, horror-struck, fishing for a phial as the fogged thoughts began to escape treacherously from Snape's fading mind. "Professor?" he whispered, his throat sounding raw. "Here, in here. Is it about Voldemort...?" The phial inched closer, but Snape closed his eyes and concentrated with every drop of strength left in him on retracting the strands.

_No. These are mine_.

Everything else had been taken from him, but this he would not share with anyone – _especially_ not the boy. His eyes fluttered open again and he nearly gasped as James's face swam before him. The same unruly hair, the same slipping glasses, the same puzzled frown tugging at the corners of his lips. In the haze of blood loss, he could almost ignore the scar that marred this boy's forehead, and the searing eyes that would always remind Snape that he was looking at the wrong face, the wrong boy.

That other boy was long dead. All Snape had of him were reflections, mirrored in his mind on cool glass that never faded. He focused hard and lunged at the wisps of memory escaping his temple and pulled them back in. The boy must never know. No one could ever know.

What had been theirs would die with them.

*

**Magic _(one)_**

The playground kicked up dust at every step, and Snape's armpits felt clammy under his overly large coat. It was too hot for this time of year and this type of clothing, but it wasn't as though his mum could afford much else. He stood quietly, not disturbing a single branch on the tree in front of him.

"Bam!" a boy's voice shouted from the grey pebbles of the playground, pointing a gnarled stick and brightening each time the dirt exploded in a small cloud as though shocked by an invisible force. "Bam! _Bam_!"

Snape trembled behind the tree, observing the boy with mounting excitement.

"I'll get the lot of you!" the boy cried, running between the swings and the benches, battling warriors only he could see. "Take that! And you, over there! _Bam_! You'll not fight without your _hand_, will you! Ha!" He ran this way and that, flinging his stick here and there and making exploding noises with his mouth, and Snape found himself rooted to the spot, as the boy suddenly turned towards him and aimed the stick at his tree. "Whose side are you on?" the boy demanded, squinting at him.

Snape furrowed his brow and emerged reluctantly from his hiding place. "What?"

"You, there." The boy moved closer, poking his stick at Snape's arm, puffing his chest and speaking as though he commanded an army. "Are you fighting with the goblins or the wizards?"

Snape's mouth fell open. He'd been _right_, but his enthusiasm was soon dampened by fear. He knocked the boy's stick away from his shoulder. "Are you mad?" he whispered, his eyes darting back and forth. "Be _quiet_. Muggles will hear you!"

"Sod the Muggles!" the boy sang in a loud voice, throwing his hands up over his head. "We've almost won! The goblins have all gone back up that hill now, and they won't come back till tomorrow." He pointed over his shoulder and nodded to himself, satisfied. "Who're you, then?"

"Shhh!" whispered Snape urgently.

The boy frowned. "They don't know nothing," he muttered to Snape, crossing his arms, "even if they did hear. They think goblins and wizards's made up, you know. And anyway, I'm a kid." The boy said this proudly. "They'd just think I'm off my nut, yeah, making up games?"

Snape eyed the boy's stick. "But you _are_ a... wizard?" he ventured.

"'Course I am," the boy said with a shrug. "And you're Snape, from down Spinner's End. I've seen you before."

"Well, why didn't you say anything to me, if you've seen me before?" protested Snape, his voice rising. "You're the only other wizard I've seen around here."

The boy shrugged. "It's not like you look too friendly. Thought you might be a goblin." He grinned at this, and Snape's eyes widened.

"I'm not a goblin!" he shouted, pulling his old coat around his shoulders.

The boy's eyes twinkled. "Where's your wand, then, if you're a wizard?"

Snape's mouth opened. "I– haven't got one yet." He eyed the boy's stick. "But neither do you!" he said angrily, pointing. "That's just a stick."

The boy looked down at the stick in his hand, as though seeing it for the first time. He shrugged again. "Hm. Well, it gets the job done all right."

"It's just a _stick_," insisted Snape, flailing his arms. "You're mad!"

"Look here," said the boy, pointing the stick at the ground. "_Bam_!" A small spray of dirt exploded in front of them. He looked up at Snape. "That's magic, isn't it? So this must be a wand."

"It's just– _no_, it's from your hand!" exclaimed Snape, furious now. "Like the Muggle-born kids, before they know about wands! My mum told me! Do it without the stick." He glared at the boy.

Grinning to himself, the boy handed Snape the stick and stretched his hand out towards the ground. "Bam," he said, with less enthusiasm than before. Nothing happened. He glanced back at Snape. "See? It's my wand that does it."

"It's _not_," cried Snape, clutching the stupid stick in his fist.

"Give it back, then, if it doesn't do anything," said the boy, reaching out for it.

"No." Snape crossed his arms, and the boy tilted his head to the side, sighing.

"_Accio_!" the boy shouted, furrowing his brows in concentration and stretching out his fingers, and with wide eyes, Snape watched the stick fly from his grip and land in the other boy's hand. With a satisfied smirk, the boy put the stick in his pocket and started to stroll away.

"What?" Snape cried after him, running. "_What_? You can't do that!" He urgently scanned the playground for onlookers. "We'll get arrested. We're not allowed to do magic yet!"

The boy stopped. "_We_ didn't do anything," he said plainly. "That was _me_."

"You _can't_. That's–" He paused, his eyes wide. "How do you know that spell?"

The boy grinned. "My dad taught me. Brilliant, isn't it? He says I've got idle hands and the devil'll get at them if I don't set to using 'em right. Or something like that. One time, I nearly blew up the kitchen cupboard, trying to get it to pop me out a chocolate frog when mum wasn't looking." He gave Snape an earnest smile. "It was _brilliant_, but my dad was fit to send me back to the stork, he said, whatever that means. He took to teaching me spells ever since, making sure I practice when he's watching. If it's not too far away, I can do that one."

Snape stared at him. "Your dad... taught you that?"

"Sure. Doesn't your dad teach you stuff?"

Snape frowned and shook his head.

"Well, anyway," the boy concluded, turning back to the lane that led away from the park and starting to walk, "I'm James. You should come back here tomorrow. You can be the leader of the goblin rebellion, and I'll be the greatest wizard ever. I'll probably beat you, but that's all right." He paused, glancing back at Snape. "You should probably get a stick before then, too."

Snape could only stare after him, his mouth open and his stomach lurching a little bit.

*

**Freak _(two) _ **

Platform nine and three-quarters bustled with nervous children and shouting teenagers and worried parents, all shoving trolleys through the thick crowd towards the train. Snape stared around in awe, eyes wide and chest heaving in anxious anticipation. Hogwarts. _Finally_.

"Hey, Sev!" He looked up to see James waving and making his way towards him, parents firmly in tow. They looked bemused at best, weary at worst, as though he regularly insisted they follow him through noisy crowds towards his next great adventure. His face was flushed and his eyes shone brightly, and Snape found himself relaxing a bit in the glow of James's enthusiasm. Everything would be all right now. They were off to Hogwarts together.

He raised his hand to wave back, but his wrist caught in the grip of another before he could say a word.

"That one of your freak friends, then?" a voice growled behind him, and he set his mouth in a thin line.

"He's just someone from down the road," he said quietly. "Seen him at the playground."

"Oh, leave it out, Tobias," a woman snapped, and Snape felt the grip on his wrist tighten. "You don' even need to be here, never mind makin' things worse for the boy."

"_I'm_ makin' things worse, am I?" the man sneered, and Snape dropped his gaze to the platform. Not again. "If you'd given me a fuckin' normal kid, we wouldn' be here with these fuckin' freaks, yeah?"

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," the woman spat from between nearly-closed lips, wrenching Snape's arm out of the man's grip. "He's leavin' for the whole year. Ain't gonna be messin' up your life no more, so how about shuttin' your mouth for once?" She leaned down and patted Snape's hand. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. You're perfectly normal, and you're gonna be one hell of a wizard, you hear me?" She sighed. "Hex _his_ bollocks off for me when you are, eh?" he heard her mutter under her breath as she straightened up.

He felt his face heat as he looked up to find James watching him from a short distance away, his brow creased.

"Bye, mum," he muttered, suffering a sloppy kiss on his cheek as he grabbed the handle of his trunk and hauled it away, trying to block out the sounds of his mother insisting she loved him, and his father insisting he didn't. "'Lo," he muttered to James a moment later.

"Does he really think we're freaks?" asked James, huddling in close to Snape so his parents wouldn't hear, and as happened so often, Snape frowned at his friend's forthrightness.

"He doesn't know anything," mumbled Snape, his shoulders hunched. "Wanted me to go to a service academy. Said I needed the discipline."

"Well, that's rubbish," said James. "And anyway, you're here now, aren't you? Are you getting on the train, or what?"

Snape glanced over his shoulder at his arguing parents and chewed his bottom lip. He turned back to James. "What do you reckon the dorms'll be like?"

James grinned, shoving him good-naturedly in the shoulder. "_Brilliant_, is what. I get the bed by the window, yeah?" His grin widened. "I hear that one's only for freaks, and I know more spells than you do, so I must be the biggest freak of all!" He laughed, his voice rising. "I'm a big freak!" he declared, ignoring the pleas of his parents to quiet down. "Just me and Sev, the biggest freaks you'll ever meet!" He spread his arms wide and sang to the platform before Snape elbowed him in the chest and he stopped, coughing. "Ow." He glared at Snape.

"Come on, genius. Train's leaving." Snape smiled despite himself, hiding his face under a curtain of hair.

James said goodbye to his parents and the two of them climbed aboard, ready for their new life.

*

**Choices _(three)_**

The train hummed along gently as it left the station, the city, and began to wind through the crisp green countryside. Snape lost James in the rush to get seats, but he didn't much mind: his first thoughts were on getting rid of his father's awful old coat and donning his new Hogwarts robes.

Dressed and satisfied, he emerged into the corridor to search for James again, and found him chatting with three other boys and a bright-faced girl in a compartment near the loo.

"All right?" asked James with a grin, budging over to make room for him.

Suddenly feeling both shy at the company and inexplicably possessive of James, Snape frowned and settled himself into his seat, trying to push his father's echoing words out of his head. Well, if he was a freak, everyone in this compartment was a freak as well – James most of all. He smiled to himself at that thought and swung his legs under him. "We're _here_," he whispered to James in excitement, feeling his face flush. His eyes darted around at the other kids before glancing out the window at the scenery whipping by. "Can you believe it?"

James just grinned at him, swinging his own legs and kicking playfully at Snape. "I know!" he said brightly. "Ace robes," he added, nodding at Snape before creasing his brow in frustration. "Mum said I can't put mine on till we get there, because she thinks I'll lose my trousers or socks or something in the loo." His face darkened at this lack of trust, and Snape shrugged in sympathy.

"Doesn't matter, 'cause when we get there, we'll go straight to the dungeons and you can put on your Slytherin tie, so your mum won't even–"

The girl who had been blushing and chatting with the other boys stopped and turned to Snape. "Slytherin?" she asked, tilting her head. "Oh no. I heard that no one wants to be in _that_ house."

"Well, what do you know of it?" snapped Snape.

"My whole family's been in Slytherin," a black-haired boy with sharp features piped up, and Snape felt his face soften.

"Well, he seems all right," James told the girl, jabbing a thumb in the boy's direction.

"Dark wizards down to the very last of 'em," the boy continued, grinning. "I'd rather eat dragon dung than join that lot."

The girl laughed. "You can be in Gryffindor, with me!" she said brightly, holding an imaginary sword above her head. "_Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart_," she recited.

"Slytherin, where you don't have to memorise nancy poetry," muttered Snape. He decided he didn't much like the red-headed girl or the black-haired boy, and when they arrived at Hogwarts, crossed the lake and entered the school for the Sorting, he wasn't sorry to see the two of them head off to the front of the alphabetical line, while Snape and James hung back near the end, with a quiet blond boy who had also shared their compartment.

He waited for the Sorting to begin with great anticipation, his stomach knotted and his eyes barely leaving James long enough to watch the others head into the Great Hall as their names were called. "Make sure you get into Slytherin," he whispered urgently to James as the line began to move, ducking around the three boys between them and reaching a hand out for James's arm.

"Yeah, all right," said James irritably, glancing around, "but that hat does what it wants, yeah?"

"Just think it," insisted Snape. "_Think_ about Slytherin, and it'll put you there. That's what my mum said."

James swallowed and nodded, turning back to face the Hall, and Snape was suddenly terrified that it wouldn't work, that James would do something to mess it all up. His stomach roiled at the thought. He didn't have any other friends. If James got Sorted into a different House, he'd have no one. He clenched his jaw and waited.

"Potter, James!" a stern woman called a few moments later, and James ran off to the Hall, his face flushed with excitement. The hat had barely touched his head before its brim parted like a sickening smile and it sang out in a loud, mocking voice, "_Gryffindor_!"

Snape's mouth fell open and his eyes swam out of focus as James glanced back at him in surprise, before running off to the Gryffindor table. The black-haired boy clapped him on the back and made room for him to sit down, and the red-headed girl smiled shyly at him, and the only thought in Snape's head at that moment was that he wanted them all dead.

Hogwarts, the wizarding school he'd been waiting eleven years to attend, his refuge from his father and Spinner's End and the loneliness of his Muggle town, was now ruined.

When his turn came and he sat on the stool, waiting for the hat to touch his head, he closed his eyes and focused with all his might on one word, trying to shut out the voices of his mother, or the stupid black-haired boy from the train. "Gryffindor," he begged. "Put me in Gryffindor. _Please_."

"Gryffindor, eh?" an oily voice murmured in his ear, and his eyes flew open. "You'd be much better off in Slytherin, you know. It's all right here in your head."

"No, please, let it be Gryffindor."

"Not sure you're brave enough for Gryffindor, boy," the hat said with a sick laugh.

"I am!" whispered Snape furiously. "I'm brave enough!"

"You're not brave enough to stand the thought of being apart from _him_, though, are you?"

"He's my friend!" mumbled Snape, feeling miserable. "You can't split us up. You just _can't_. We'll do Gryffindor proud, the pair of us. I promise we will!"

"Ah, but that's not your path, boy. _He_ will do Gryffindor proud, that much is clear, but _you_, well. You're a different sort, aren't you?"

"I'm _not_," insisted Snape. "I'm not different. Don't say that to me!" The word _freak_ echoed in his ears, and he clenched his fists at his sides.

"There's only one House that can help you with what you'll need," said the hat cryptically, and Snape swallowed hard.

"Don't I have a choice?" he pleaded.

The hat only laughed in his ear. "Oh, dear. You _do_ have some Gryffindor qualities, if it's _choice_ you value. But no, not in this case. You're choosing for the wrong reasons, aren't you? So, it had better be–"

"No!"

"_Slytherin_!"

The hat cried the last word out for all to hear, and Snape slunk off the stool in a daze, stumbling to the Slytherin table. A blond boy with a Prefect badge threw an arm around him and led him to his seat, and Snape sat in silence for the rest of the night, not daring to look at the Gryffindor table, and wondering how on earth he was supposed to get through the next seven years.

*

**Saved _(four)_**

James fell into step with Snape as he stormed across the courtyard one morning, angry from a fresh reminder of the uselessness that was Care of Magical Creatures class.

"This what we're doing now?" said James, hauling his bag up over his shoulder. "Ignoring me, hoping it'll all just disappear? What the fuck, Sev?"

"It _has _disappeared," grumbled Snape, not looking at him. "It's done with, so forget it, would you?"

A pinching hand on his shoulder finally stopped him, and James shoved him around to face him. "I'm not fucking forgetting it," he snapped. "What the fuck is the matter with you? Since when do you fucking listen to Sirius, of all people?" He punched Snape on the shoulder, not lightly. "What the _fuck_?"

"Quit saying that word," muttered Snape, running a hand over his face. "You sound like my dad."

James paused. "Fine," he said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest, and somehow, his acquiescence made Snape feel even worse. "What the _heck_ were you thinking?"

Snape was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip and trying to decide what to say to that. The truth wasn't really an option, after all. "I just..." He shrugged. "Don't know. _Wasn't_ thinking, I suppose. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"Why are being such a dickhead?" James pressed, his eyes wide. "I don't _want _to hear anything! Just, pardon me for daring to ask why the fu- _hell_ you'd sneak down a bloody great tunnel in the middle of the night because someone who hates your fuc- bloody guts dared you to! You could have been _killed_, you stupid fucking tit!" He didn't even try to tone his language down at that, his voice rising and his hands gesturing wildly.

"Then why do _you_ go?" exclaimed Snape, his calm melting at last. "He could kill you, too! Why are you running around with a– a–"

James closed his eyes. "_Werewolf_, would be the word you're looking for," he said coldly, "and you heard what Dumbledore said. If you tell _anyone_ about that, so help me, Sev, I'll–"

"You'll _what_?" said Snape, narrowing his eyes as his voice melted into a mocking sing-song. "Never sit with me on the train again? Never hold my hand between classes?" His tone sharpened again. "You don't do any of that anyway, not in front of your _bestest_ Gryffindor friends, so what do I care? I'll tell the whole damn school your boyfriend's a werewolf, and there won't be anything you can do about–"

James's eyes blazed, and he grabbed Snape by the collar of his robes, hauling him behind the south wall of the courtyard and away from prying eyes. "My boyfriend?" he bit out, his lips a thin line. "That what you think? Say that again," he said quietly, his voice dripping malice. "_Say it_."

Snape panted as his back hit the stone wall, and a horrified thrill shot through him at the proximity of James's body. "You're sneaking out with him at night," he said bitterly, his eyes fixed on James. "I can put two and two together."

"Oh yeah? What about you and Mulciber? Or Avery? Or Avery and Mulciber." He laughed. "Your Slytherin goons all look alike. And I know about the kind of magic they're into. That the sort of thing you want, Sev? Bloke who'll carve a Dark Mark in your arm?"

"You haven't denied it," snarled Snape, trying to twist out of James's grip.

"Neither have you," said James, tightening his fist in Snape's robes.

They stood there a moment, breathing hard and staring at each other, neither quite sure of what to say. The air crackled around them, and Snape finally had to drop his eyes, unable to look anymore. James slackened his grip, rolling against Snape's shoulder to turn himself around so that he too had his back to the wall, beside Snape.

"He's my _friend_," said James at last, pushing his head back against the wall and staring straight ahead. "They all are. It's not– it's not anything else. With any of them."

"Not even the perfect Miss Evans?" grumbled Snape, hating himself the second the words were out of his mouth. It wasn't really Lupin he feared, after all; if James wanted to snog a werewolf, well, that would probably be good riddance, as far as Snape was concerned – irrefutable proof that James was deranged beyond all help, and better off out of Snape's life. But _Evans_... well. That was a different story.

James barked out a laugh, shaking his head against the wall. "Little Miss Know-It-All?" he sneered. "She can get her knickers wet over some other Quidditch star."

Snape rolled his eyes and winced a bit at the rude language. Same old James. He glanced over to find James watching him.

"Stop it with the Dark magic, Sev," he said quietly. "I mean it. You can't get mixed up in that stuff."

Snape sighed, his head still replaying the insult to Evans as he fought down a smile. "They're _my_ friends," he said. "That's all." He was quiet again for a moment as he looked at James, breathing a little quicker at the way his lips curved up in a wistful grin. "I... didn't thank you," he muttered, feeling his face heat.

"What, for saving your bloody life? No, you didn't." James smiled, knocking him in the shoulder, but lightly this time.

"So, uh. Thanks."

James grasped his robes again, but only to turn him. He pressed his nose to Snape's neck and inhaled, moving his head slowly up to Snape's ear and nudging his long hair aside to whisper in it. "Turns out I like you," he murmured, as his hand flattened against Snape's chest and began moving down, achingly slow.

Snape wanted to let his knees buckle, to just collapse against the wall and haul James down with him, licking and tasting and touching every part of him. But he couldn't do that, not yet. They had only just begun this sort of thing, and the feel of James's skin against his was still too new. So far it had only been the occasional brush of fingers under waistbands and lips against throats. He couldn't risk losing any of that. "Yeah," he mumbled, swallowing over the heat of James's pulse against his chest.

"Don't make me have to save your life again, you stupid berk," he laughed softly into Snape's ear, his breath warm and sending shivers down to Snape's toes. With that, he pulled back and smiled, his face flushed and his hair as messy as always. He hiked his book bag over his shoulder and set off across the courtyard, turning only once to give Snape a lopsided grin and a quick wave.

*

**Night _(five)_**

"You get out here and bloody _explain yourself_ to me, you little shit." Snape's face was only centimetres from the surface of the mirror, fogging it with his breath.

In the glass, James's features wavered before him, crystallising into a snarl. "Sorry, Sev," he bit out. "I don't play with _Mudbloods_."

"I _told_ you I didn't mean that," fumed Snape, gesturing wildly at the mirror in his hand, "but you've got to admit it's easy to lose your temper when you're upside down in front of the entire fucking school!"

The door to the Gryffindor common room flung open at that, and James stormed into the corridor where Snape stood. Snape jerked his head up from the mirror and snarled as James jabbed a finger in his chest. "I told you I wouldn't let you do that Dark magic shit with Mulciber and Avery. I fucking _told you_, and you've been doing it anyway. So you know what I'm going to do about that? I'm going to fucking turn you upside down in front of the entire fucking school until you realise you're being a giant fucking dickhead about this, and–"

"Get your hands off me," shouted Snape, pushing James away.

"And now they've got you thinking just like them, is that it? Thinking only Purebloods deserve to do magic?" James shoved him up against the wall and knocked his head back into the stone. "Have you told them _you're_ a fucking Mudblood? You tell them that, Sev? Or, no, they'd toss you out of their little Dark Arts club if they knew, wouldn't they? So, okay, you go and take your shit out on Lily. Well, fuck you."

"Don't say that to me," said Snape, his voice suddenly small. "Don't use that–"

"That word?" James laughed, harsh and cruel. "Yeah, I know: your daddy uses it, right? Does he push you into walls and tell you to fuck off, too? Seems like you just keep on doing things to piss people off, then, Sev. Maybe you should think about that."

"Maybe _you _should think about what a wanker you are when Black's around," Snape shot back, and James hesitated, his grip slackening in Snape's robes.

"Shut up," he growled. "This isn't about him."

"Then it's about Lily, I suppose?" He glared at James. "I've been so busy studying for N.E.W.T.s, haven't properly congratulated you on your Mudblood girlfriend."

James's eyes blazed. "Shut up," he muttered. "Don't _say_ that word. And she's not my girlfriend," he said fiercely, and then he paused, panting, as his voice dropped. "You don't think I'd tell you if I had a girlfriend? You don't think you'd be the first to fucking know it?"

"No, you wouldn't, because you could care less what I think," Snape shot back. "That's never changed. So just _go_, why don't you? Go off and shag your girlfriend. I'll just be waiting here, ready to get strung up by my bloody pants next time you need to show off for her!"

"Oh, fuck you," said James, grabbing Snape's arm and hauling him down the corridor. "_Fuck you_. Get the fuck in here, you stupid twat," he said, throwing Snape into an unlocked classroom and warding the door. He turned to face him, walking slowly towards him as Snape backed away. "You really think she's the one I want to fuck?" he said quietly. "You _really_ think that, Sev?"

Snape closed his eyes briefly at the sound of James's voice sliding over his name, that stupid nickname that only James ever used, and he jumped, startled, as the backs of his legs hit the desk at the front of the room. He hadn't really realised he'd been backing up. "What do you want with me, when you can have her, or Black, or–" he flung his hands up – "or the _werewolf_, for that matter? They all worship you, and you know it."

"I don't want someone to worship me," said James, sauntering towards Snape and stopping just in front of him, too close. "Well, okay." He forced a laugh. "I do, of course, but you're right – I already have that." He leaned over Snape, pushing him down so his arse hit the desk as James nudged a thigh between Snape's legs. "I want someone who _doesn't_ worship me," he breathed in Snape's ear. "Or, no. I want someone who hates me at first, and then worships me by the time he comes." A shudder pulsed down Snape's spine, and his fingers curled around the edge of the desk. "Just like you."

Before Snape could protest, James's mouth was on him, hot against his own. He groaned in protest and scrabbled against his shirt, but his flailing fingers only succeeded in locking into the fabric and pulling him closer. "I don't hate you," he muttered against James's lips. "But I don't bloody worship you, either, you tit."

"Shut _up_," groaned James, pushing his hands through Snape's hair and drawing his head closer, lips moving fiercely against Snape's. "What do I have to do to shut you _up_?"

Snape drew in a long breath at that, images flashing through his mind of all the things James could do to shut him up, all the things he usually did when he got like this, and a splash of arousal shot through his groin. He pushed up against James as their tongues tangled, somewhere on the edge between anger and desire. "Do what you want," he muttered between kisses, his traitorous hands curled in James's shirt, pushing fabric aside and desperate to feel warm skin.

"Yeah?" James bit at Snape's lower lip, tugging it away from his mouth before releasing it and grinning, one hand moving roughly down to Snape's trousers. He squeezed.

Snape closed his eyes and bit back a moan, all the blood in his body rushing straight to his prick. This was why he put up with the bloody Gryffindor. This was why he still kept a place empty beside him on the train every September and every June, waiting. _This_ was why he tolerated the taunts and hexes and the bravado for Black and Evans. James still smelled the way he had at ten years old, crouching with a stick in the dirt of the neighbourhood park and watching in wonder as the worms fled from the unexpected red sparks. He still laughed the same way, sauntered the same way, and could shatter all the calm Snape thought he had with only one look.

Like right now.

"Come on," James urged, tearing Snape's tie from his neck and opening his shirt, fingers slipping with excitement through the button holes. He paused to shove his own shirt off as well, tearing the buttons open and throwing it to the floor, leaving only his undershirt on. With a quick movement, he turned Snape around and slid his palms over his bare chest, pulling him back against James's tight trousers. "You gonna let me?" he asked hesitantly, almost pleading, and Snape allowed himself a small smile that James couldn't see.

This was his favourite part, the way James still asked _permission_, despite everything they'd been through, everything they'd done to each other. As though they were still children, and James was just asking to borrow Snape's wand for a second. "Tell me why I should," he sneered over his shoulder, his hair hanging loose around his face and concealing his flushed cheeks, but he was already pushing his arse back against James's body, already hard and aching under his own trousers.

James breathed a laugh against his back. "Tell me why I shouldn't tie you to this desk and fucking leave you here with your prick out."

Snape swallowed hard, begging his body to be still and not betray the visions splashing through his mind of _that_ idea.

"You're going to keep messing around with Mulciber's crew, with Sirius's cousins and the _Malfoys_, for God's sake, then you bloody deserve it." His lips pressed against the back of Snape's neck and Snape felt the light scrape of teeth.

"Oh yeah?" Snape ground out, his elbows scraping the desk. "Tell me why I should let you humiliate me in front of the entire school!"

"Tough love, Sev," breathed James, tugging at Snape's trousers and pants until they fell to his knees. "Friends don't let friends join the Death Eaters." Snape heard James's belt clang open, the pressure against his back lifting briefly before James pushed against him again, now with bare skin instead of the fabric of his trousers. He kicked Snape's legs apart and let his swelling cock slide into Snape's cleft, and Snape couldn't help but drop his forehead to the desk, panting.

"I'm not joining– the fucking– Death Eaters," he moaned as James murmured a spell and slicked his fingers. "Just learning to defend myself, you sodding–" He stopped dead with a low groan as James's fingers pushed inside him, wet and hard and just a fraction too wide.

"Defend yourself from _what_?" James whispered, his free hand rucking Snape's shirt up and scratching down his back.

"From..." But Snape could barely speak anymore, not with the head of James's cock nudging at his balls and James's fingers slick in his arse. He pushed back against them without even meaning to, his body sparking.

"From this?" James offered, and Snape could _hear_ the grin on his face. "Don't seem to be fighting too hard, Sev. But you never do, do you?" His voice softened as he withdrew his fingers and grasped his prick. "Tell me to do it," he added, and Snape straightened his back somewhat, rising from the desk to turn and look at him.

He glared at James and shook his head. "Fuck you."

James's eyes widened. "Tell me," he repeated slowly, "you want my cock in your arse, Sev."

"I don't."

"You're a fucking liar."

"And you're a lousy friend."

James laughed at that. "I'm a great fucking friend," he said, pushing forward to rub his cock against Snape. In another second the laughter faded, and James's body covered Snape's as he leaned down, curling him over the desk. "Tell me you're not a Death Eater," he whispered in Snape's ear, his fingers gently pushing the hair back from Snape's face. "You can do anything you want with yourself and I won't give a shit, but not that, Sev." He kissed the shell of Snape's ear. "Not that."

Snape was quiet for a moment, thinking of the way the word _friend_ meant something different in his world than it did in everyone else's: it meant the kid who talked to you when no one else would; the bloke who showed you magic to Stun your father when you needed to; the person who stood up for you when the Gryffindors and their sodding attitudes closed in around you. Well. The person you _wished_ would stand up for you. Snape had learned spells in Slytherin, a certain kind of magic he knew he wouldn't learn anywhere else, and he basked in the power of it. If all of that was something James would never quite understand, well, that was only because James had _always_ been powerful. James didn't need those spells. "I thought you were going to put your cock in my arse," he said at last, his voice hard, and he was rewarded with a palm between his shoulder blades.

"That's not the right answer," said James angrily, and with a whispered word, Snape's abandoned tie flew off the desk and slithered around his wrists, pulling them over his head and fixing to the opposite side of the desk. His cheek hit the surface as his back stretched out, and he gritted his teeth.

"Oh, yeah," he muttered sarcastically. "_I'm_ the one who knows too many dodgy spells." But he bit his lip and groaned a second later, when James's only answer was to spread Snape's arse cheeks open and shove himself roughly inside, pushing inch by inch through the oil from his fingers until his balls came to rest against Snape's, and both of them grunted and sucked in a breath.

"Just shut up," breathed James, his hips shifting as he bent his knees and began to thrust. "You drive me fucking nuts, you stupid tit," he muttered, "prancing around this school, letting any Slytherin with a rich name paw at you like you belong to them. You'd do anything for them, but what about me, huh?" He moved one hand to Snape's hip while the other stayed flat against his back, fingers digging in with each forward thrust as he pulled Snape back on his cock as far as the bonds at Snape's hands would let him. "What do I have to do to get you to remember that _I_ saw you first. _I_ was the one who taught you how to lock your old man's liquor cabinet every night." His voice shook. "_I'm_ the one who looks out for you, yeah? Not them. Never them."

Snape's body caught fire under James's assault, the words sliding down his spine and each push of James's cock making him choke out sobbing noises of reluctant pleasure. This was the only way James ever fucked: rough and senseless and in full confessional mode. Snape tugged at his wrists and moved his hips to push his cock against the desk, desperate for touch. "Not them," Snape breathed at last, and he felt James's lips at his back.

"Just me, right, Sev?" he murmured, and Snape closed his eyes and nodded, his blood roaring in his ears as James's cock slid in and out of his body. James moved one hand from his hip around to his prick and wrapped it in his fist, pulling with rough, uneven strokes, and Snape could only clench his jaw and groan.

"Just you," he moaned. "Just... _God_." His pleasure raced down his spine as James fisted him, and without even meaning to do it, he jerked in James's grip and came hard, spattering the desk as his back tensed and his thighs shook.

"God, yes," muttered James, flattening his hand over Snape's abdomen and hauling him back over James's cock, harder and harder. "Could fucking do this forever, you know. Just like this with you, every fucking night." He pushed in hard, one last time, and Snape felt the pulses of hot come inside him as James stilled, fingernails sharp in Snape's skin and fogged breath wet over his back.

They were still for a long moment, breathing heavily and stuck together in several places, but Snape found he didn't much care. James Potter was his greatest weakness, after all. There was nothing James could do to him, or ask of him, that could make Snape turn away. It was a bit more than fucking and a bit less than love, but if there was a word for it, Snape couldn't figure out what it would be. Addiction, maybe. Habit.

Or dedication.

*

**Life-Debt _(six)_**

A windy hilltop. A wedding long since past. Debts to repay, and a love bordering on obsession to fulfill.

"Well? A message from Lord Voldemort, I take it?" The figure appeared in front of him as if materialising from the very earth itself.

Snape pulled his cloak around his shoulders and tried to mask his fear as he faced Dumbledore for the first time in years. "No message," he said. "I'm here on my own."

"I want nothing from a Death Eater," said Dumbledore, his eyes blazing in ways Snape had never seen before. He had counted on the old man's disappointment, even condescension, but not this indifference, this rage. He steeled himself.

"It's not for me. It's for– It's– Trelawney," he blurted. "That night. I heard everything."

"Ah." Dumbledore paused, his eyes boring into Snape. "Yes, I thought so. And you told Lord Voldemort, I expect?"

"Everything," he said miserably. "I told him everything. He thinks it's about James." He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "James Potter."

"James Potter?" asked Dumbledore quietly, tilting his head and searching Snape's face. "The prophecy did not mention a man, only a child," he added after a pause, seeking Snape's eyes.

"His son," said Snape, wringing his hands. "He thinks it's James's son... Going to kill them all..."

His chest constricted at that, and a decade of memories flooded over him – James at ten years old, poking at the dirt with a stick; James at their Sorting, dashing off to the Gryffindor table; James running flat out down that cold, dark tunnel, hauling Snape out and flinging him onto the grass, clear of the werewolf's jaws; and James's hands, mouth, skin... hot and smooth next to Snape's, moving over his body and touching every part of him.

He had no words for their relationship. None seemed adequate, or accurate. _Friend_ was too casual, _lover_ too intimate, and anyway, Snape was no longer either of those things to James, so labelling any of it was a waste of time. He should hate James, that much he knew. Flashes of that squalid inn over a year ago kept rolling through his mind, no matter how hard to tried to scrub them away.

There was James, draining his beer and wiping his mouth, shoving a hand through his already-messy hair and glancing over at Snape, hooded and cloaked in the corner.

There was James, heading up the stairs and unbuttoning his shirt as he went, his steps steady and his eyes not looking back to see if Snape was following.

There was James, pushing him up against the door of the room the moment it closed behind them, attacking his neck with parted lips and grinding his hips in hard.

"Don't say it," whispered James, his thumb sweeping over Snape's lips none too gently. "Don't fucking say anything to me, just–" He paused, breathing hard. "You gonna let me?" he asked quietly, and Snape's breath caught in his chest.

"Why should I?" Snape choked out, James's mouth still moving over his jaw and neck. "You're getting married," he added, his voice ringing with accusation.

"She's not a Death Eater," said James simply, his hands rough against Snape's chest and stomach, pushing him harder into the door.

"I'm only a Death Eater because _you're marrying her_," said Snape, shoving him away and running a hand over his face.

James stumbled briefly before backing up towards the dusty bed and sitting down, heaving a sigh. "No, you're not, Sev. You're a Death Eater because you chose the wrong side. You didn't choose my side." He stared at Snape, as if he couldn't believe anyone could dare choose something over him.

Snape moved stiffly towards the bed, ignoring the voice screaming in the back of his head at him to leave, now, before this went any further. "Your side didn't choose _me_," he said before he could stop himself. "We were eleven years old, and I asked to be on your side, and _it wouldn't choose me_."

James only blinked at him, and Snape found he couldn't stand that look on James's face. He couldn't stand to talk about this anymore.

He moved onto the bed and straddled James, cupping his face and biting at his lower lip. "Choose me," he murmured, shoving James down and letting his leg drag up against James's groin. "I dare you."

James groaned, letting his head fall back to the bed as Snape crawled over him, unfastening clothing and moving his lips over James's smooth skin. When they were finally naked and Snape sank down on James's cock, scraping fingernails down James's chest and letting strong hands bruise his hips, he closed his eyes and let everything else melt away. For once, just one time – the last time, he knew – he let go of the anger and fear and distrust and searing, aching sense of loss, and focused only on James. Perfect, stupid, honest, unforgivable _James_.

"If he means so much to you," said Dumbledore, interrupting Snape's thoughts, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare him? Could you not ask for mercy for the father, in exchange for the son?"

"I wanted to," Snape said with a sigh, his voice breaking. "I asked him, but he wouldn't–"

"You disgust me," spat Dumbledore, and Snape swallowed hard. He disgusted himself, too, but that didn't change anything. "You don't care about the deaths of his wife and child?"

"Hide them all, then," begged Snape. "I'll do anything..."

But _anything_ still wouldn't be enough, that much he knew, and giving his soul to Albus Dumbledore would never help heal the gaping hole James had left in it.

*

**Gone _(seven)_**

None of it mattered anymore. _None_ of it.

"I thought you were going to keep him _safe_," said Snape, barely recognising the sound of his own voice. Dumbledore's office blurred around him as his head pounded. All he could see behind his eyelids was the Dark Mark glowing brightly over Godric's Hollow, wavering in the moonlight like a sick mirage.

"You were hoping Lord Voldemort would spare him, I suppose?" said Dumbledore, too casually. "Pity you put your faith in the wrong person, Severus."

"Stop it," muttered Snape, but Dumbledore ignored him.

"His son lives. The boy has his hair, have you seen? You remember the colour of James Potter's hair, the way it would never lie down flat, I'm sure?"

"DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... Dead... You have no idea," he whispered, his face in his hands. "You mock me. You think me a fool! If it had been Lily I'd asked you to help... If it had been a woman..."

"No idea?" said Dumbledore sharply. "Do not patronise me, Severus. I know exactly what it is to put your trust in the wrong man, to choose the wrong side. If you loved James Potter, _truly_ loved him, then your way forward is clear."

"Love," muttered Snape, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor. "That's not what it was."

"It doesn't matter what you think it was, or even what you were to him. Did he not love you as much as you loved him? It is the way of the world, Severus, and you are not the first it has happened to. You would be wise not to dwell on it." Dumbledore paused beside his desk, his breath heavy in the grieving air. "He's gone," he added, his voice softening. "Make sure it wasn't in vain."

Snape looked up to see fierce eyes watching him.

"Help me protect James's son."

"No, it's over," said Snape miserably, waving his hand at Dumbledore. "None of that matters anymore. I couldn't protect him."

"The boy, Severus. Think of the boy. Lord Voldemort will return," said Dumbledore, "and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

The sudden, sickly sound of James's laughter filled Snape's ears.

_Come on, Sev! Help a bloke out. Make the right choice._

It was always just a game to James, just one big joke. He'd cruised through life on the shoulders of giants, and had fallen in one of the greatest sacrificial acts of their time. Snape shook his head. It was just like James to leave him in this wretched situation, forced to spend his days looking out for _Lily Evans's_ son.

He blinked up at Dumbldore and nodded, his mouth a thin line. "Never tell," he murmured, his voice firm. "_Never_, Dumbledore. The boy must never know. No one can ever know."

_These memories are mine_, he thought fiercely, clutching at them in his mind. _He was mine_.

*

**Always _(eight)_**

Snape grew to hate Dumbledore's office. Nothing good ever happened there, and nothing good was ever reported there. The night he learned that Harry was a Horcrux was the worst one of all, though, and that was saying something.

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?" Snape curled his fingers around the back of a nearby chair, leaning on it for support.

"Don't sound so shocked, Severus," said Dumbledore, his eyes narrowed. "You have done your share of killing lately, and watching others die, have you not?" This was not happening. After all this time, the old man would _not_ do this.

"Only those I could not save," said Snape through gritted teeth. "Death remains the exception in this fight, not the rule. Or so I thought." He paused, his eyes blazing at Dumbledore. "You have used me."

"Have I?"

"I have spied for you," he began, moving around the chair and inching closer to Dumbledore, each word coated in acid as it slid off his tongue. "I have lied for you. I have killed for you and put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep James Potter's son safe. Nothing else mattered. _Nothing_." His chest heaved and his voice rose. "Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter–"

"How touching, Severus," said Dumbledore, cutting off his rant with a darkly amused light in his eyes. "Don't tell me you've come to care for the boy, after all?"

"For _the boy_?" shouted Snape, his patience crumbling as he strode towards Dumbledore, drawing his wand. "The _boy_? _Accio_!" He murmured the key to a concealment spell after the word, his wand pointed down towards the dungeons, and in seconds, a small box sailed through Dumbledore's window and into Snape's hand. He flung open the lid and rummaged through the scraps of parchment within. "Here!" He slammed a ripped page down on Dumbledore's desk, his mind reeling.

_making mince tarts for dessert, and I'll grab some firewhisky for us. What about it, Pads? Hey, Lily says I don't show affection to my mates enough, so here you go:_

Lots and lots of hugs and kisses and LOVE LOVE LOVE I LOVE YOU, MAN!  
James

Dumbledore sighed, glancing at the parchment and rubbing his eyes, but Snape barely noticed.

"Or this?" he continued, shoving a ripped photograph in front of Dumbledore. James's bright face laughed at the camera, his head thrown back and his throat exposed from his open collar. His shoulder was raised near the ripped edge, as though the severed arm had been looped around another person, and in the frayed edge of the photo, the lopped-off hand of a baby could be seen beside him. "For _the boy_?" repeated Snape, rage coiling through his veins, and Dumbledore put his hand up and watched him carefully.

"After all this time?" he asked wearily, and Snape drew a deep breath, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Always."

*

It didn't matter anymore if the war was won or lost, if Harry lived or died, if the world went on around him or not.

Snape clung to his memories as his blood stained the floor of the Shrieking Shack, closing his eyes and sealing his mind around them. James was ten, eleven, fifteen, seventeen, twenty, _perfect_, arrogant, unbreakable and, most of all, James was _his_. James had loved him in the only way that James had ever known how: second to himself, and it was enough.

It had to be enough.

He felt his body soften and still, his mind fade away, and his memories – no, his _reflections_ – shift underneath him. He opened his eyes and saw James on the other side, crouching in the dirt of the playground and poking his stick at a pile of stones he would later claim were Hinkiepunk droppings.

"Hey, Sev, come on!" the boy's excited voice called out, and Snape followed the sound to find the ten-year-old boy morphed into the man he'd last seen at a shoddy inn outside London, his shirt open and his face flushed with exertion. "Come on," the older James repeated to him quietly, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and sauntering forward. "Come with me, Sev," he continued, sweat shining on his bare chest and his lips parting as he neared.

Snape sank into the floorboards and melted into the wavering image as it became clearer and clearer.

"You can be the leader of the goblin rebellion, and I'll be the greatest wizard ever," James teased him, his voice low and rich, reaching a hand out to trace gently down Snape's arm. "I'll probably beat you, but that's all right. You're used to that by now, aren't you?" He smiled, pulling his lower lip under his teeth and winking at Snape, and Snape was lost; he could no longer resist.

He took James's hand and let him lead them back to the playground, a place where sticks could do magic, and everyone was in Gryffindor, and even shattered souls like Severus Snape could still have their own happy endings.

 

-fin-

 

**Note:**  
This story (especially the Dumbledore segments) takes some dialogue verbatim, or near-verbatim, from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, Chapter 33: "The Prince's Tale." No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
